


Culled from the Garden

by wesleysgirl



Series: Sentinel series for Jane Davitt's birthdays [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-07
Updated: 2009-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-06 04:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Jane Davitt's birthday 2009.<br/>Many thanks to justhuman for the beta, and to dawnie1970 and bluespirit-star for providing the dog's name (and to everyone else who made suggestions!)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Culled from the Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaneDavitt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDavitt/gifts).



> Jane Davitt's birthday 2009.  
> Many thanks to justhuman for the beta, and to dawnie1970 and bluespirit-star for providing the dog's name (and to everyone else who made suggestions!)

"That brown puppy's checking out your garden, Chief," Jim said. He was standing by the sink with a glass of water in his hand, the T-shirt he'd worn to bed rumpled and rucked up in back, revealing about an inch of lightly browned skin between shirt and pants. Even though it was only the beginning of May, he'd been spending enough time out in the yard to be working on the start of a fine tan.

"Buddy?" Blair said from the kitchen table, pretty much rhetorically because Buddy was the only brown puppy for miles as far as he knew. He spooned another bite of granola into his mouth and, still chewing, moved to join Jim at the window.

"He's gonna dig up all those bulbs you made me plant last fall," Jim said.

Blair chewed a few more times -- the granola was great, but sometimes he feared for his enamel -- and swallowed. "You say it like I held a gun to your head."

"It's no secret it wouldn't have been top of my list on how to spend a Sunday afternoon," Jim said mildly. It wasn't really much of a complaint; Jim didn't complain at all about the stuff that bothered him the most.

"But they look good, don't they?" The tulips were red, yellow, and even the requisite pink, though Blair was fairly certain that the reason the neighbors knew he and Jim were a couple was because they were two middle-aged men living together and not because of the presence or color of flowers in their yard.

"Not for long," Jim said.

Buddy, still a puppy but already larger than most dogs, was snuffling innocently among the flowers. "I don't think he'll cause any trouble," Blair said, and went back to his breakfast.

Jim continued to stand at the window. When he tilted his head back to drink his water, the long line of his throat, illuminated by the mid-morning sunshine, was a thing of beauty. He finished, turned to put his glass into the dishwasher, then caught Blair watching him. "What?"

"Nothing." There were times when Jim didn't mind Blair waxing philosophical about his physical perfection, but Blair had learned that this wasn't one of them.

"You want me to go run the dog off?" Jim asked.

Blair shook his head and scraped up the last bite of cereal. "I'll get him. Probably Eleanor doesn't even realize he's gone." Their nearest neighbor, Eleanor lived alone and had been helpful the year before when Blair had bumped into her at the garden center. She'd suggested various sun and shade plants and even offered to come over and help Blair put them into the ground, though he'd insisted he could do it on his own.

"Now he's in the azaleas," Jim said helpfully, and Blair, who had a special fondness for the flowering plant that he couldn't have explained, went to get his sneakers. "I think there's something in there."

"What do you mean, something?" Blair asked. He shoved his feet into the sneakers without socks or untying them, then had to slide a finger in between skin and canvas when the left heel got turned under. "Oh man, not a skunk?"

"They're nocturnal," Jim said. He had the vaguely disinterested air that actually meant he was concentrating. "And I don't smell anything. Maybe a chipmunk?"

"There _are_ some holes around the foundation," Blair said, before he remembered his plan to _not_ mention said holes because it would just get Jim worked up to know they were there.

Predictably, Jim's expression hardened, and Blair knew he was thinking about poisons and traps.

"Come on, let's rescue whatever it is before Buddy's enthusiasm overpowers him," Blair said hastily, hoping to provide a distraction, and went out the side door.

Buddy had the front half of his body tangled in the azalea, tail wagging vigorously. He snuffled loudly, then sneezed, just before Blair got hold of his waist and gave a tug.

"Okay, Mr. Troublemaker, out we go." It took most of Blair's weight to counteract Buddy's determination, and he ended up falling backward onto his ass as the dog came free from the bush. Buddy took advantage of his position and jumped on him, licking Blair's face and, when he vainly attempted to ward the dog off, his hands. Then Buddy barked and turned back toward the azalea, this time wriggling between the bush and the house.

"Was that a meow?" Jim asked.

"What?" Blair said. He couldn't hear anything over the sound of Buddy's barking.

Jim narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, I think he's got a cat under there."

Shifting onto his hands and knees and crawling forward, Blair tried to get at the maybe-cat from the other side. It wasn't even a cat, now that he could see it -- it was still a kitten, tiny and bedraggled, fur damp and sticking up in every possible direction from Buddy's avid washing. It looked terrified, its blue eyes begging Blair for rescue. "Get the dog, would you?" he said.

As Jim went around the bush from the other side and caught hold of Buddy's collar, Blair managed to get his hands on the kitten. It mewed piteously but didn't struggle and seemed grateful when Blair held it to his chest. "Hey, it's okay. Shh. I've got you."

"What do you expect me to do with this thing?" Jim asked. He had pulled Buddy away from the house and still had the puppy by the collar; the dog was trying, without success, to get away.

"Take him back to Eleanor's?" Blair suggested. "Or you can take this little guy inside and I'll walk the dog back."

"Yeah, let's do that." Jim frowned. "Hang on -- I think there's some rope in the shed. There's no way you can walk this brute more than a few yards this way." He dragged Buddy over to the shed and inside, then came back a minute later with a rope looped through the puppy's collar. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Blair exchanged the kitten for the end of the rope. "He seems pretty little -- I don't know if he can ever eat regular food. Maybe his mom's feral and around here somewhere?"

"I think the dog would have tracked her down," Jim said. "I'll see if I can find a number for the MSPCA while you're gone."

Blair wasn't too crazy about _that_ idea, but at the moment he had a sixty pound, energetic puppy at the end of a makeshift leash and had to concentrate on that. By the time he'd taken Buddy home and handed him over to Eleanor with a brief explanation, then gone home again, Jim had the little gray and white kitten on the kitchen table with a saucer full of milk. It seemed more confused than anything else.

"I don't think she's hungry," Jim said.

"She?" Blair was strangely amused by the fact that Jim had already determined the kitten's gender.

"Yeah."

"What about the MSPCA?"

"Closed. They're open tomorrow, though."

Blair pulled out another chair and sat down beside Jim, watching as the kitten stood there looking puzzled. "Maybe she wants it warmed up? I mean, it'd be warm milk if she was nursing from her mother."

"I don't have the necessary equipment," Jim said, grinning. He stretched out a finger toward the kitten, and she blinked and toddled forward on unsteady legs to touch his fingertip with her tiny pink nose. "She's pretty cute."

"I thought you didn't want pets," Blair said. Picking up the saucer, he took it to the microwave and set it to run for a few seconds, then brought it back over to the table. "Here, kitty." He made some kissy noises, trying to get the kitten's attention.

"I didn't say I wanted _this_ one," Jim said. "And just whose attention are you trying to catch there, Chief?" Leaning over, Jim kissed Blair, just a light, soft press of lips.

"Not in front of the children," Blair murmured, then broke his own rule and stole another kiss before Jim moved away. The kitten had discovered the warmed milk and was lapping tentatively at it. She put her paw in the milk by mistake, startled, shook it, and then licked the milk off.

Jim chuckled and wound his fingers into the hair at the nape of Blair's neck. It was a touch Blair was as familiar with as breathing, the gentle tug of Jim's hand that communicated comfort and affection. "You're the one that's supposed to be a dog person," Jim pointed out.

"A wolf isn't the same as a dog, even if they're both canines," Blair shot back. "You think we should keep her?"

"I think we should take her to the vet's and make sure she isn't carrying some disease," Jim said. "Or fleas, for that matter." He sounded mildly horrified at the prospect.

"Give me a break," Blair said, scooping up the kitten and holding her up at face height so he could look at her more closely. "You'd know if she had fleas -- you'd be able to see them. Heck, you'd probably be able to _hear_ them."

The kitten looked back at Blair steadily with her blue eyes, seemingly unafraid now that she was inside and away from the puppy/licking machine.

"Well, if we're going to keep her even overnight, we need to run to that giant pet mart place and get a few things," Blair said. "Come on, big guy." He patted Jim's shoulder as he got up, still holding the kitten, and Jim, ever reliable, stood up, too.

* * * * *

Their trip to Enormous Warehouse of Pets R Us was, as far as Jim was concerned, something he'd be grateful not to ever have to make again. The store was full of unpleasant smells -- algae clinging to the sides of fish tanks, dusty bird feathers and dander, the sharp musk of ferrets. And those weren't even the worst smells.

"Dial it down," Blair said gently, touching the small of Jim's back to help him focus.

He did, grateful for the reminder even as he berated himself for still needing it. After all these years, he should have a better handle on his senses.

"Hi, can I help you with something?" a girl asked. She was wearing a bright smile and green apron with a nametag that said 'Lauren' pinned to it. "Oh, a baby! How old is it?" She immediately stepped closer to Blair to examine the kitten.

"We were hoping you could tell us," Blair said. "The neighbor's dog had her cornered up against our foundation this morning."

"Hm, I don't know. Can I --?" Taking the kitten from Blair, Lauren took her over to the counter and set her down on it, watching her. "Maybe four or five weeks? Was she alone?"

"Except for the dog," Jim said dryly.

"Her mother must have been nearby," Lauren said. "I mean, it's not like she could get far on her own, right?" The kitten took a couple of wobbly steps before Lauren picked her up again. "So, you need kitten replacer?"

Jim blinked. "What?"

"Formula," Lauren clarified. "You're going to bottle raise her, right?"

"Actually, we --" Blair started, but Jim interrupted him.

"Yeah," he said, because it was suddenly obvious to him that they were. Blair wanted to, even if he wouldn't say it. "Yes. Can you help us figure out what else we'll need?"

"Well, a good vet, for one," Lauren said. "I can recommend a few. Otherwise, you don't need much -- bottles, the formula, and a litter box so you can start getting her used to the idea."

"She won't just use it on her own?" Jim asked.

"Probably not, but she'll catch on pretty fast." Lauren gestured toward the center of the store. "Just follow me and we'll find what you need."

An hour later, they were back in the car and almost home, two bags of supplies on the back seat and the kitten sleeping peacefully on Blair's lap.

"I wish we knew what happened to her mother and the rest of the kittens," Blair said.

Jim slowed down to take the turn onto their street. "Maybe there weren't any other kittens."

"Maybe," Blair said, but he didn't sound convinced.

* * * * *

"Aren't you worried we'll roll over in our sleep and crush her?" Jim asked Blair in bed that night. The kitten was lying on her back between them, her rounded belly full of the milk she'd willingly sucked from the tiny plastic bottle.

"Are you kidding?" Blair said sleepily, his lips lush as they shaped the words.

Yeah, Jim thought, his desire to have the kitten sleep somewhere other than between them in bed didn't have anything to do with his desire to touch Blair, to kiss Blair, to make Blair whimper his name and convulse underneath him.

Nothing at all.

"Do you know how many cultures co-sleep? It's totally safe. Even when we're sleeping, our bodies will know she's here. She's totally safe." Blair yawned and scootched the kitten under her chin, and she lifted it, blissfully accepting his affection as if she deserved it.

Oh, we are in so much trouble, Jim thought, and smiled. "What are we going to call her?"

"I don't know," Blair murmured. "I was thinking some kind of flower, because we found her under the azalea -- well, Buddy did -- but Azalea sounds like a weird name for a cat. Pansy?"

Jim snorted. "Because there's a good name for a cat that lives with two gay guys. Do you want to rent a billboard, too?"

"Sure," Blair said. "Blair Sandburg loves Jim Ellison, in sixty inch high letters. Sounds good to me."

That definitely deserved a kiss -- Jim pushed himself up onto his elbow, leaned over the kitten carefully, and pressed his mouth to Blair's. The kitten opened her eyes and looked at Jim with no sign of suspicion. Her nose, Jim noted again, was a perfect shade of pink. "How about Rose?"

"But then if we get another cat, we'll have to call it Nine," Blair said. "Or Ten."

"We're not getting another cat," Jim told him. "One's plenty."

"Rose," Blair said, and shut his eyes. "Yeah. I like it."

* * * * *

Dawn was barely breaking as Jim woke up to the sound of birds fighting outside. Someone else might have called it "birds chirping," but Jim knew better. This wasn't the sound of sweet little birds greeting the rising sun; it was a bunch of pissed off birds arguing over who was going to get the bigger share of seed from the feeder that Blair did his best to keep filled despite the birds' equal determination to empty it. Jim didn't know what kinds of birds they were, and he knew that mentioning that would result in an eager academic lecture from Blair and probably a book being pushed into his hands, but he could tell just by listening which birds were at the feeder -- the little gray ones with the dark eyes.

He opened his eyes and looked at Blair, still sleeping, the kitten curled up on Blair's pillow right in front of his face. It was probably soaking up the warmth as Blair exhaled.

Jim rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Remembering what Blair had said about the kitten's mother, he shut his eyes again and focused, extending his sense of hearing as far as he could. God, it was still amazing how he could hear _everything_. Well, okay, not everything, but a hell of a lot. And the world was fucking _amazing_ when you could hear like this; not just the birds at the feeder in the yard, but birds a couple of miles away. Water gurgling in the stream that skirted the edge of their property, the rustle of leaves as a rabbit left its burrow in search of an early morning salad. And near that, somewhere not too unreasonably far away, something else: the tiny rumble of a purr.

Quietly, so as not to wake Blair or Rose, Jim slipped from the bed and went to put on his shoes.

* * * * *

Blair woke up to the sound of the screen door slamming shut, but it still took him a minute to realize what was going on. He was alone in the bed, Rose toddling around next to him. "Jim?" he called, his voice hoarse with sleep.

"Chief, get down here!" Jim called back, obviously from downstairs. "Hurry up!" He sounded excited, not worried, so Blair let himself indulge in some grumbling as he scooped up the kitten and shuffled down the stairs.

"What is it?" he asked from the landing. Jesus, the sun was barely up. "What time is it?"

"Time to buy another litter box," Jim said, which made no sense at all until Blair stepped into the kitchen and saw what Jim was holding.

A young adult cat, slender and bright eyed, cradled in one arm, and three kittens squirming in the other.

"What did you --" But Blair didn't even have to ask the question, because he knew exactly what Jim had done. "Here, put them down." He took one of the kittens from Jim and crouched down to set it and Rose on the floor. From his vantage point, he could just about see up the leg of the shorts Jim was wearing.

Nice vantage point.

He could also see that Jim's legs, bare above his sneakers, were covered with fine scratches. "Where were there, in the blackberry patch?"

"Right in the middle," Jim confirmed, bending to set the mother cat and the other two kittens on the linoleum. "Rose must have wandered off, got separated." It was clear by looking at them that they were all related, even setting aside the fact that the mother cat was licking Rose avidly, because they were all a variety on the same theme, white cats with an assortment of gray splotches.

Blair was grinning like an idiot. "I thought one was plenty."

"Yeah, well," Jim said, petting the mother cat. "Apparently the universe had other ideas."

The mother cat arched into Jim's touch and gazed up at him lovingly, purring so loudly Blair was surprised the windows weren't rattling with the force of it. She looked at Jim like he was her hero.

Blair knew exactly how she felt.


End file.
